We're not at Amber anymore. Photo by Darwin Bell
Blame it on "Fringe," but I've been thinking a lot about alternate realities lately - you know, the possibility that there's a parallel universe a lot, but not quite exactly, like this one. Perhaps there's still a Molly Freedenberg, but in the alternate reality, she's a doctor, not a writer. Or San Francisco is a mecca for conservatives. Or Amber is a non-smoking cocktail lounge.
Oh wait. This last one, as of January 16, is true. And a parallel universe is exactly what I felt like I was in when I visited the bar on 14th and Church that's served for three years as my living room, my last stop, my birthday party venue, and, not insignificantly, one of the last pieces of proof I could hold on to that smoking is cool, cosmopolitan, and bohemian, and not simply insane and self-destructive.
The strange thing about the new Amber, now called the Residence, is the way it still refers to its past incarnation. The seating is arranged the same way in the room, though it's now leather and whicker, rather than wood and '80s upholstery. The bar's in the same place, though the countertops are sanded down and stacked bottles of Stoli have been replaced by Grey Goose and St. Germain's on dark wood shelves (with mirrors behind them)! The bartenders are the same, but Phil wore a black shirt and tie rather than his green '70s jacket. Even the bathrooms are in the same place, but now sport floral and striped wallpaper. It felt like some kind of de ja vus. Something about this place is eerily familiar, but I know I haven't been here before.
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